


Eavesdropping

by kimpernickel



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Post-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpernickel/pseuds/kimpernickel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, she thinks they are just her memories replaying over and over in her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eavesdropping

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst working on AOaY, I came across a prompt (that I can't seem to find anywhere now), and I had to write this little piece.

_Don’t do that, Greg._

She is sitting in front of the fireplace attempting to cross-stitch a sampler when she first hears it. His voice rings clear in her mind, and it startles her. The second occasion is a few days later, just seconds after she has woken up with the sunrise. _Hurry up, Greg!_

At first, she thinks they are just her memories replaying over and over in her mind.

Except, by the seventh or eighth time, she realizes that these are not memories.

_Did you know that Canada and America fought a minor war over who would control Maine?_

They are him, _now_ , back at wherever he came from. And it’s a delight to listen to him. They come at random, and in fluctuations. She can go days without ever hearing him, or only a sentence within a week or two. Then there are days when it is as though he is a chatterbox, a constant feed of phrases that are unrelated to each other, and she wonders if there is a way to turn off the strange bond.

But she would never actually shut it off.

After a few weeks of this phenomenon, she experiments. As soon as she hears him say something ( _Oh, hi, Dad_ ), she mentally responds. _Wirt? It’s me, Beatrice! I can hear you. Can you hear me?_ Except she receives nothing until two days later— _What cake flavor would an eight-year-old boy prefer? Chocolate or Lemon?_ She attempts it once more: _Chocolate, you goofball! Can you hear me like I can hear you?_ Unfortunately, her response is silence for another day or two, and she officially decides to give up. 

It doesn’t bother her too much, though. She likes knowing the little snippets of his life that resonate through her brain. He talks to Greg, and his parents, and his friends, and himself. Usually, they are ordinary phrases, like _School was fine,_ or, _Could I have change for a twenty?_ These, she decides, are the _comfort_ phrases. They assure her that he and Greg are alive and well, and getting along. They also ease her mind because it is his voice, a sound that she will never hear again in person. To hear, _Yes, I took out the trash,_ after a week of not hearing anything—she savors those words in case it goes silent for another week or two.

Then there are the more meaningful, heartfelt things she overhears. They aren’t rare, but they are uncommon. It could be a line of his poetry ( _An endless path before me, I march into the inevitability that is uncertainty_ ) _,_ or a sweet conversation with Greg _(You’re a good brother)._ Much like the comfort phrases, they range in topic and nature. And of course she relishes these words, which she nicknames the _nerd_ phrases because they are just so _him_ , but she tends to remember them more than the comfort phrases.

If she really likes what he says, then she scribbles it down in a journal that would otherwise go unused. The first worthy of being written out is, _I think Beatrice would like this book_. She has no idea what book he spoke of, but it is the first time she hears him say her name in these sentences, and she loves how it meant that he still thought of her. She almost never hears her name, so when she does, she is sure to jot it down in her journal.

From what she recollects and what she has written, she attempts to piece together what is happening to him. It’s difficult with little context and sentences almost literally pulled from the air, but she can speculate certain things. She suspects that he grew taller ( _My pants are too short_ ), and that he has a job ( _My schedule is nine to one on Saturdays_ ), and that he plans to attend university ( _I don’t know what I want to major in_ ). Maybe he is courting someone ( _We’re supposed to have dinner tomorrow evening_ ). There are a few she doesn’t quite understand ( _I have to pay the electric bill by Friday,_ or, _I haven’t been here in years_ ).

It is one hot summer afternoon, walking home from the market while her six-year-old sister holds her hand, when she hears him say, _I think of her all the time._ She dashes back home and into her room to write it down. Even if he doesn't, she is convinced that he means _her_ because maybe—just _maybe—_ he was able to hear her all along, but they could never communicate. And if that was the case, what had he heard _her_ say? How often? Did he take as much joy in it as she did? She’ll never know the answer because she can’t ask him.

At written phrase number nine hundred fifty-seven, _I think of her all the time_ is the last phrase she writes.

And the last one she hears.


End file.
